Damien's Lover
by words of magick
Summary: He was going to be mine, eternally. Based off of Porphyria's Lover.


**AN: So this was written for my British Literature class. It is based off of Robert Browning's **_Porphyria's Lover_**, a poem written in the Victorian Age. It's quite different from what I normally write, but I still hope you enjoy it!**

**Constant Vigilance!**

**magick**

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**__**Damien's Lover**_

_Eternally Tied_

He looked as if he were sleeping. I knew because I had watched him sleep many times before.

I cherished our stolen moments – he insisted them and I welcomed them like the thirsty earth welcomed the rain. We had so many of them but so often they were cut short by his disappearance in the middle of the night. He told me his wife would begin to suspect if he didn't return home at all. I would ask why he cared so much about returning home to her when he did not love her. He simply told me that she was still his wife.

He swept in and out of my life constantly without a word. But now, he would not, for he was no longer sleeping.

The tie about his neck loosened in my hands, the silk slipping through my fingers.

He had come to me, unexpected and unannounced, like always, late at night. The lightning storm outside lit up my bedroom in strange hues of greens, blues, and reds. The thunder shook the room and I was glad he had left her for me. I needed the comfort of his strong arms.

He was still dressed in his suit from a long day at the office followed by what I imagined to be a silent, brief meal with his wife. He slid his suit jacket off, placing it carefully the chair in the corner. Taking long, deliberate steps, I soon found him standing before me, my name a murmur, a prayer on his lips.

When no one returned a word, he pulled me into his arms, a warmth radiating from him.

The striped silk tie he wore brushed my bare collarbone as he spoke soft words of love and adoration into my ears.

A voice entered our ears, asking why he would not leave the wife he did not love.

The response was merely an apology and a vow of devotion to me alone. And he kissed me and loved me, for the passion we had persevered over all.

He devoted himself to me, his love as tumultuous as the storm surrounding us, the storm that rested in my soul. His eyes lit up like the lightning brightening the room because of our love.

But the following rumble of thunder shattered the illusion for me. He wasn't mine.

So many nights, he came to me. He came to me and loved me and I loved him and we loved each other. He made me promises, bright futures of the day he would divorce his wife and we would be together.

He was not mine. He stole away in the night and dedicated himself to me for a time, only before he slipped away back to her. He always slipped back to his wife whom he did not love.

The storm passed and he slept beside me for a time, too deep a sleep to wake up from anything. His dress shirt remained on but unbuttoned, the striped tie knotted loosely, draped over his bare chest. He looked so peaceful as he slept. The gentle rise and fall of his chest reminded me of the ocean tide, coming and going from the shore. He was so much like the ocean tide, coming and going.

Suddenly, he turned his head. Now, as he faced me, the tie around his neck caught my attention. It hung there so carelessly, so lifelessly. I reached out for it, the fabric sliding across my fingertips. Leisurely, my fingers travelled to the knot. It slipped tighter effortlessly.

My heart began to pound. The blood raced through my veins. The air around me was constricting, like the tie, laboring my breathing. I needed this. I needed him with me.

It closed in on his throat, smaller and smaller, inch by inch, centimeter by centimeter. Soon, the silk encircled his throat. I felt the pulse of his blood, the cool skin against my fingers. I felt the bursts of air leaving his mouth.

A sudden jerk of my hands, the tie wound itself fast around its owner's neck. Those eyes flashed open, stunned and frightened. I held strong although there was no struggle. There were no words.

Seconds, minutes, hours later I sat, holding that tie within my hands. I adjusted the tie, loosening it slightly. The fabric fell from my fingers, turning cold.

I looked at the body and saw he looked just as if her were sleeping.

He would have never left her. He would have never have left his wife for me. He would never leave her, no matter how many times he whispered he loved me as he made love to me.

I had made the choice for him now. He might have been hers in life, but he was forever mine in death. Mine, forever.

Abruptly, I shot up in bed, my eyes slowly adjusting to the black of night around me.

It had only been a dream; a frighteningly dark and haunting dream.

My heart still pounded with adrenaline of that dream. My breathing was shallow and labored. The reality of that dream gripped me even as I was awake.

Slowly, I turned to glance at the space beside me. Sure enough, Damien lay there, sound asleep. He was still there; he loved me. Within the first look at him, my breath caught.

He lay on his back, the covers pooled around his stomach. His skin seemed to glow. I could see him breathing, his chest rising and falling in a steady, tedious rhythm. Racing to the memory of my dream, I saw his breath stopped short. I _wanted_ his breath to stop short…forever.

Mentally, I shuddered. How awful to think such a thing.

Yet, my body did not obey my mind. My eyes caught my every movement and my mind yelled at me to stop.

He always slept solidly, nothing could wake him. So when I crawled over him, he did not stir. He did not know I loomed above him.

His life was in my hands.

The tie hung loosely about his neck, the dress shirt unbuttoned entirely. Of its own volition, my hand slid to the tie. It grasped the slippery silk and tightened it. Tighter and tighter still, it was almost flush to his neck.

In a flash, I pulled it taut, choking off his air. His eyes burst open, locking with mine.

They were bright as they gazed up into mine. I could see the love within them pour out as the life within his body, little by little, drained. He did not struggle and I did not relax my hold.

He was going to be mine, eternally.

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**AN: And that's that! Below is the statement of intent, describing why I wrote what I did. :)**

Loosely based off of "Porphyria's Lover," by Robert Browning, I applied the same concept of keeping love preserved to my piece. Within it, I have a scorned lover addressing her relationship with a married man, Damien. It starts in what seems like a flashback, only to realize three quarters of the way through that it was all a dream. With this, I bring in a few aspects of psychoanalytic criticism with the presence of a dream spurring future actions and expressing hidden desires. There is also a bit of conflict within Damien's lover as she fights between what she dreams of doing (id) and what is the moral thing to do (superego). As Porphyria's lover shows discontent in their relationship, so does Damien's lover, and both are paralleled in their acts of murder. However, when each lover commits their murder, there is a significant difference in their idea of oneness. While Porphyria's lover never mentioned the 'we' of their relationship until he killed her, Damien's lover constantly referred that oneness until she killed him. She acts upon her initial unconscious desires to keep Damien as her own, although effectively severing their ties in the process.

The title is a sardonic, double entendre, seeing that Damien's lover strangles him with his tie so he will be hers eternally. The piece is much darker as a whole in comparison to "Porphyria's Lover." The purpose was to show, like in Browning's poem, the instability of the lover and their strange, immoral thoughts and actions.


End file.
